


The Dream

by AyaTheMidorian



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen, Old Drabble, artsy speak, kind of sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 14:18:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11761707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyaTheMidorian/pseuds/AyaTheMidorian
Summary: Sentenced to imprisonment by his own creations, Pitch Black is blessed with a rare moment of peace.





	The Dream

It was a delicious tragedy, a beautiful performance that poisoned the senses. Black roses wilted and the sun gave way to darkness. Here he lay, dreaming - and yet it was so forbidden, so pure and deadly to his tainted soul. He didn’t want it to stop, though...he needed her to linger, if only just the traces of her smile.

Fire. Fire burned around him, or so it seemed. He was enveloped in darkness. There were no flames, and yet his soul was burning with agonized longing. It hurt. It hurt so much. His mouth opened, but no scream came; only resigned, impotent ash. It was dark and despairing.

Deep and black as pitch.

How fitting, he found himself thinking. How acceptable it seemed. What had he done to deserve this? His crimes were immeasurable. Surely he deserved it. After all, the heart’s longing doesn’t come without cost.

Even despite his wretched heart, he had almost killed his torturer, and that was the last thing he had wanted.

Breathing was a foreign concept to him now. He had lost hope. Surely he would suffocate beneath the feelings that covered him. Oh, how he longed, yearned for her again...had there really been nothing more to do, to say? Would he ever understand?

He wanted to see her face. He wanted to see her eyes, her gateways...he needed to see the soul that resided behind them. If they didn’t keep him sane, nothing would. He would never leave this hell.

Such was the curse of wanting something one could never have.

The first bit of glowing sand shocked him. Here he was, encased in a never-ending hive of the dreadful black sand he had created, and such wholesome energy dared appear? He saw another little grain fly past, and another, then two more, until they were sprinkled amidst the black despair sand like stars among the night. He scowled.

One grain touched his hand. He flinched, but was unable to pull away. Where would he go? He was trapped, imprisoned by his own creation yet again. Yet, in the moment it made contact, he could see her. He saw her face, her smile, her eyes...those beautiful, familiar eyes. Hesitantly, he held out his hand once more, and more of the golden dream sand touched him. It was so foreign, so forbidden...he couldn’t help but relish it. His eyes grew heavier, and it was getting harder and harder to keep them open. He reached out again, and he was no longer in the cocoon of despair sand…

Her face was that of an angel’s. He stretched his fingers out, suddenly desperate to hold her, to feel her. He saw not fire, but sunlight; beautiful, beautiful sunlight, and for a moment he was saved.

He lost his consciousness to the dark of night, and dreamed of that angelic light. It was nothing more than a hallucination, but he didn’t care. It was almost too real, as if she really was there. And for a moment he believed she really was. His senses were awakening and he could do more than just see her. He could almost hear her voice, he could almost feel the soft touch of her hand.

All the while he reached out, his fingers just inches away from breaking through the shadows. Then he heard the sweet, vibrant sound that eased his pained heart so...he let his hand fall, and the light dimmed until he closed his eyes again. He accepted this slumber. He let the darkness envelop him once again, but this time he clutched a tiny bit of light within his hands.


End file.
